


Terror with a Head Cold

by starstrung



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, sick!arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrung/pseuds/starstrung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this <a href="http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/4207.html?thread=6436207#cmt6436207">prompt</a>.</p><p>Arthur gets grumpy when he's hungry, injured, or in this case, sick. In fact, he becomes irritable on a level to rival even Carolyn herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terror with a Head Cold

That day, Martin wakes up to see white frost clouding up his attic window and his breath pluming into the air. He turns over to burrow his cold nose into the warm sheets to boost his confidence before leaping out of bed. He dances over the icy wooden floors and imagines his toes turning blue and dropping off.

The streets are piled with snow. Martin hates driving the van on winter days because he knows one skid would put his van in the shop and he can’t afford that. It’s a relief when he gets to the airfield and all the snow is cleared away, as if it never fell in the first place.

He and Douglas sit in the flight deck, bundled up in scarves and coats, companionably complaining to each other how Carolyn is skimping on the heating so that the budget stays lower.

“I mean, what if one of us gets sick? Then it’ll be all her fault,” Douglas says. Martin is finding it difficult to take him seriously because he’s wearing a large violently purple knit scarf. He knows better to comment on it.

“Where are Carolyn and Arthur anyway?” Martin asks, checking his watch. “They should have been in twenty minutes ago.”

The flight deck doors open and Arthur walks in.

“Speak of the devil,” Douglas mutters to Martin.

“What did you say, Douglas?” Arthur asks and it’s strangely reminiscent of how Carolyn speaks to Douglas after he’s replaced another bottle of Talisker with apple juice. He sniffles loudly and stares at Douglas with red eyes.

“Good Lord, Arthur. Did you by any chance sleep outside last night?” Douglas asks.

Arthur glares. He actually glares. His eyes narrow and his usually smiling lips thin and curl into a frown. It’s frightening and Martin feels himself leaning away, which he usually only does when Carolyn is yelling at them.

“All right, chaps. I was _going_ to make you coffee. But since I’m the one who’s sick and you’re too busy making cracks about it, I guess I’ll just have all the hot water to myself.” Arthur blows his nose loudly into a tissue and storms out.

“What was all that?” Martin asks immediately after the doors close.

Douglas grins. “It happens when he gets sick. It’s like he becomes a miniature of Carolyn, snarky remarks and all.”

“I can’t believe it,” Martin says.

“Yes, you should have seen him this one time he broke his arm. For six weeks it was like there were two Carolyns in GERTI. And then after he’s all better he doesn’t remember it anymore.”

“No, not that. What I can’t believe is that you let Arthur take away the coffee. I am _not_ flying to Miami without coffee.” Martin stands and goes to the galley, only to be intercepted in the doorway by Carolyn. She looks worried and when she sees Martin standing in front of her, her expression turns sour.

“What are you doing out of your seat?” she says coldly.

Martin stares for a bit. Not only is Arthur unusually peevish this morning, but Carolyn seems even more like a warden of a prison than she normally is. “We _are_ allowed to get out of our seats,” he says slowly.

“Says who?” she asks sharply. “Sit down, I want to talk to you both.”

“Is this anything to do with the wandering case of the common cold you have in the back?” Douglas asks, looking bored.

“Yes, it is. And this time, he won’t even let me take his temperature.”

“Do you think he’s really very sick?” Martin asks. “Are you sure he should be flying today? Maybe he should stay home.”

Carolyn’s eyes flash. “Keep your voice down,” she hisses, looking behind her shoulder furtively.

“Wh-why?” Martin says, looking startled.

“Do you know how Arthur would react if we asked him to stay at home, Martin?” Douglas says in a low voice, turning towards him and looking very serious.

“I suppose he would be upset,” Martin says slowly, thinking of how much Arthur loves to fly.

“That is an understatement, I’m afraid. Thank goodness this is a cargo flight,” Carolyn says gravely.

“It can’t be that bad,” Martin reasons, standing up again. “I’m just going to go talk to Arthur about the coffee.”

“On your head be it,” Douglas says.

Martin rolls his eyes and goes into the galley but Arthur isn’t in there. He cranes his neck and sees that Arthur is sitting in the front row of the passenger seats, slouching back and leaning his cheek glumly on his hand so that his whole face looks slackened and disgruntled. Tissues lie strewn on his lap and by his feet and even from this distance, Martin can see that he is sighing repeatedly.

“Come on, Arthur, cheer up,” Martin says uncertainly. Usually it is Arthur that is giving the motivational speeches and he’s not quite used to doing it himself.

“When the _hell_ are we taking off?” Arthur says in a nasally voice.

Martin laughs nervously. He’s never heard Arthur curse before. “In just a moment. I thought you liked the build-up before a take-off?”

“No, I don’t!” Arthur says loudly and he violently flings a balled up tissue at Martin. Thankfully it unfurls in the air and flutters onto Martin’s shoe. Arthur sinks further into his seat, crossing his arms and turning away from Martin.

“I just wanted to ask about the coffee because—”

“Oh, just go ask Mum,” Arthur mutters and then he blows his nose again.

“Yes. Right. Yes. Of course,” Martin squeaks and hurries back to the flight deck and closes the door after him.

“After today, I think I finally believe that Arthur really is your son,” he says to Carolyn.

“Yes, yes, all right,” Carolyn says over the sound of Douglas snickering. “Now shut up and get this damn plane in the air. The sooner we get to Miami, the sooner I can put Arthur to sleep.”

She pauses for a second, looking preoccupied and chewing on her lip. “I need you to do something for me. Arthur won’t listen to me right now so maybe he’ll listen to one of you two. Get him to stick this in his mouth for thirty seconds.” She pulls out a thermometer.

Martin reaches out to take it but Douglas looks less convinced.

“What do I get when I win?” Douglas asks.

“Don’t you mean ‘if’ you win?” Martin says in indignation.

“Does _everything_ have to be a contest between you two?” Carolyn says, crossing her arms. “Arthur is sick and he could have a fever. This isn’t like the time you bet Warsaw ATC was female.”

“It would give us more incentive,” Douglas says.

“Fine,” Carolyn says. “Whoever gets Arthur to take his temperature gets to have his birthday off. Deal?”

“Two days off?” says Douglas.

“Nice try,” Carolyn says, and she storms out of the flight deck.

As they put GERTI into the air, Martin and Douglas discuss the parameters for their little contest. Or rather Douglas dictates what the parameters will be and Martin has no choice but to accept because he still has no idea how he’s going to be able to take Arthur’s temperature when he’s too scared to even have a proper conversation with him.

“Right, so we each get five minutes with him until one of us wins. And it’s a long enough flight to Miami, so I believe we’ll have our winner by the end of this trip,” Douglas says smugly.

“And I suppose you already know who that’s going to be, do you?” Martin says wearily.

Douglas only smiles knowingly. They toss for who goes first and Douglas wins. Martin secretly breathes a sigh of relief but pretends to be disappointed.

And so Douglas goes in first while Martin gets progressively more nervous and tries to focus on flying the plane and not on the frighteningly Carolyn-esque Arthur Shappey who he’ll have to face next.

When Douglas opens the flight door and comes in, Martin gets the strong scent of coffee being brewed that makes him go a little weak at the knees because by now he’s experiencing caffeine deprivation. Douglas sits down, clears his throat, and passes Martin the thermometer.

“No luck?” Martin says.

Douglas shakes his head. He looks slightly dazed.

“Well at least you got him to start the coffee.”

“That wasn’t Arthur.”

“ _Carolyn_ made the coffee?” Martin asks in disbelief. Carolyn only ever drinks tea so she sees it beneath her to ever make a pot of coffee.

“No, it was me,” Douglas says.

“You?”

“He… manipulated me into making coffee.” Douglas looks like he’s still finding it difficult to accept what just happened.

“In five minutes?” Martin squeaks. He looks down at the thermometer in his hand and he gulps. But then he has an idea and he stands up and goes into the galley. The coffee machine is still emanating a delicious smell but it hasn’t finished yet. He opens the fridge and finds it. An apple.

He goes into the passenger cabin to where Arthur is still sitting with his pile of tissues and tosses the apple at him.

Arthur catches it and doesn’t even crack a smile, just stares at it. “What’s this for, Skip?” he asks in a dead voice.

Martin’s spirits fall. “I… don’t you love the feeling of tossing an apple?” He takes the apple from Arthur and tosses it from hand to hand, grinning hugely for Arthur.

“Oh, wait,” he says. Instead of the satisfying feeling he had been expecting, the apple feels mushy and disgusting. “How old is this apple?”

“Disgustingly old,” Arthur says, and although he doesn’t grin his usual maniacal grin, his lips quirk up a little and Martin takes heart.

“Look, Arthur you just need to put this in your mouth for thirty seconds. We just want to make sure you’re okay,” Martin says, pulling out the thermometer. “It’s a safety precaution! Flight regulations, you know,” he adds hastily.

“Mum made you do this didn’t she?” Arthur says, turning irritated once more. This time he throws the whole tissue box at Martin. Martin yelps and runs back to the flight deck where he grudgingly passes the thermometer back to Douglas.

They lose count of how many passes the thermometer makes. Arthur refuses each time and they get nearer and nearer to Miami without any luck.

Finally, Martin goes in and sees that Arthur has fallen asleep. Martin stands there for a moment, taking in the sight. Finally the frown is erased into a peaceful expression that looks more like the Arthur that Martin is used to seeing.

Martin adjusts Arthur’s neck into a more comfortable position and takes one of the scratchy complimentary blankets and drapes it over his shoulders. Then he takes the thermometer, and perhaps with more force than necessary, sticks it into Arthur’s mouth.

Afterwards he takes it to Carolyn with a mixed feeling of victory and worry because Arthur does have a fever after all.

“We aren’t far from Miami,” he reassures her. He knows that she’s only trying to appear indifferent because as soon as he gave her that thermometer she looked like she was ready to jump out of her seat and run to her son.

Martin leaves Carolyn to tend to Arthur and press wet napkins to his forehead. When Douglas sees him come in without the thermometer, he raises his hands in defeat but Martin doesn’t much feel like gloating.

By the time they reach Miami, Arthur’s temperature is already starting to go down. They leave him sleeping while they go through the post-landing checks, and then Martin and Douglas support a half-asleep Arthur to the hotel room while Arthur deliriously mumbles things about sugar cube monsters.

And two days later, Arthur is exactly the same as he always was. He laughs and seems to have actually forgotten not being his usually cheery self two days prior. But Martin still makes sure to tell Carolyn that the next time Arthur is sick, _he’s_ taking a sick day.

 

 


End file.
